


One Hell of a Howe

by Dwarven_ass_fine_dwarven_ass (Altairs_sister)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Attempted Murder, F/M, Hate Sex, Inappropriate Erections, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-22 05:54:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15575199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Altairs_sister/pseuds/Dwarven_ass_fine_dwarven_ass
Summary: When the Warden-Commander meets Nathaniel Howe in Awakening, he mentions that his original intention was to murder them, before settling for stealing some things. What happens if he sticks with his original plan, and ambushes the Warden-Commander in their sleep with intent to kill? What happens if the author doesn't know how to write anything but smut?This. This happens.





	One Hell of a Howe

Eliza awoke, not entirely sure what had stirred her, and ready to slap it. All she wanted after travelling for days and fighting through a castle full of darkspawn was a long bath and a long sleep. She'd managed to procure _one_ of those things and was pretty pissed about missing the other.

She stopped breathing, swearing she heard a rustle, and a deep, primal thing within her said _MOVE!_

She rolled over quickly, hearing the blade whistle through the air and land softly in her thin mattress, scraping against the wood slats with a grating squeal.

She leaped up, dodging another swipe and hearing a soft curse from a masculine voice. She backed up, heart pounding in her ears and holding her breath. She held her hands out behind her in the pitch black, finally touching the wall and plotting out a map of the room in her head.

She managed to silently grasp the sheathe of one of her daggers and lifted her hand gently up the wall until she reached the wall sconce.

She felt around, listening intently to the soft creak of worn leather boots as her attacker wandered around blindly in the pitch blackness. She grasped the striker and squeezed it, rolling in a random direction as her attacker charged towards the sound.

Thankfully, the sconce took on the first strike, and the warm, soft glow of firelight filled the room, outlining her unfriendly guest’s form.

She didn't have time to identify them, barely missing a slash to her vulnerable belly which might have turned her innards into outards. She grabbed at their wrist, twisting it until the weapon clattered to the stone floor and whirling to press her dagger to their throat.

Panting, she looked them over. A young man with long hair somewhere between brown and black matching a small triangle below his lower lip, and fury in his silver eyes stared back at her, upper lip curled to bare his teeth.

“Who sent you?” she demanded in a low growl, pressing the dagger dangerously close. He closed his mouth, scowl still in place even as he pressed his lips firmly together. Eliza growled lowly, focusing the blade right over his jugular.

“I _said_ , who...sent you?” she snarled. When he didn't answer again, she gradually pressed the blade harder and harder, until his nostrils flared and his jaw clenched.

He mumbled something, not moving his jaw or neck in fear of her blade nicking something important. Eliza drew the blade back a touch.

“Who sent you?” she asked, softer now. He swallowed, throat bobbing dangerously close to the blade, and spoke in a low, smooth Ferelden voice.

“Nobody sent me, _Warden_ ,” he spat, using the title with a disdain she hadn't heard since the Blight. In the moment she was distracted, bewildered at this stranger's pure hatred, he took advantage, grabbing her wrists and grappling with her.

She refused to release the hilt, aware that her weapon was keeping him wary – and her alive. He pinned her wrists beside her head, slamming her hand against the stone wall to make her drop her dagger.

She grunted, gritting her teeth as her knuckles collided with the stone, but held fast. He finally gave in, staring intensely into her eyes with a hatred usually reserved for darkspawn and blighted rats.

“If it isn't the great Hero of Ferelden,” he growled lowly. “My father's murderer.”

Eliza scowled in response. His firm grip on her wrists was frustratingly enjoyable, as were his intense, dark eyes.

“You're going to have to elaborate,” she purred throatily, admiring something else flashing through his eyes. “I've killed a lot of people.”

He growled lowly, causing her to purse her lips curiously. There was something oddly familiar about his downward pointing nose and narrow silver eyes.

“You're a glorified serial killer,” he spat, and she leaned in, baring her teeth.

“At least I've never snuck into someone's chambers to kill them in their sleep.”

“You don't deserve any better.”

Eliza growled again, trying to yank her hands free.

“Why don't you stop fucking around and tell me your name?” she snapped, tired of his shit. That mysterious look crossed his face again.

“Nathaniel Howe,” he said shortly, and Eliza’s brows shot up. She hadn't seen the man in years, Maker, wasn't he supposed to be in the Marches?

“You're pissed off because I killed _that_ traitor?” she asked, shocked. Fury twisted his face and he squeezed her wrists so hard she lifted her head and groaned in pain. Nathaniel started to say something, stammered for a moment and stopped.

“Your father...” she growled lowly, inhaling deeply through her nose and fixing him with a hard stare. “Ordered an attack on my family when we were vulnerable. Your father looked me in the eye and told me he would care for my father, and sent his soldiers into my room in the dead of night to kill me.”

Her heart rising into her throat, Eliza recalled the horrors of that bloody, loud, fire-filled night.

“My brother’s wife and son were slaughtered. Innocent staff killed for getting in the way. My mother and father were murdered. Howe deserved to be killed slowly and painfully, like the men he was torturing. When I slit his throat I showed him a mercy he wouldn't have shown me.”

Fury lit up his eyes and he roared, throwing her bodily to the ground. She yelped as her head hit the stone, clutching her dagger and growling challengingly as she rolled to her feet, into a crouch.

He stood over her, dagger having returned to his hand, and clutched it with white knuckles.

“And I won’t show you,” he spat. “I’m here to avenge him and won’t leave until you’re dead on the ground.”

Eliza laughed humourlessly, rising.

“And so the circle continues,” she murmured. “I kill that bastard to avenge my family…you kill me to avenge him…eventually you’ll be killed to avenge me.”

Nathaniel grit his teeth.

“And I don’t have anyone left to avenge me, thanks to you.”

He charged her with all the grace and tact of a blinded Hurlock, slashing wildly and managing to tear a hole in her worn nightshirt as she rolled out of the way, brandishing her own dagger. She kicked at his calf, which buckled under his weight and he snarled as she grabbed the back of his light leather armour, yanking him to the ground and jumping atop him.

They wrestled for a time, her trying to pin his dagger arm down and him trying to get a good slash in. She managed to pin his wrist against the ground with one hand, the other balancing her own dagger above the pulse point in his wrist. He went still, clearly aware of the artery throbbing just below the surface, vulnerable below the point of her blade.

“Drop it,” she snarled, and he obeyed reluctantly, opening his hand and letting the dagger roll out, clattering onto the ground. She released his wrist to throw the dagger into a dark corner of the room, and quickly shifted her dagger back to his throat, not releasing his hateful gaze.

“Call me whatever you like,” she said lowly, holding him firm. “But I never have, never _will_ harm an innocent person.”

Nathaniel bucked his hips to throw her off and she growled, tightening her thighs around his hips. He bucked again, grinding against her and she released a squeak without intending to – one of his buckles rubbed against her vulnerable heat, protected only by some loose smalls. That mysterious look was back in his eyes, and Eliza grit her teeth, pressing her blade more firmly against his skin.

“Give me a fucking reason,” she snarled, and he scowled back.

“You’re a murderer playing God,” he spat. “Pretending your judgement is just, acting like you should decide who deserves to live.”

“And you’re a coward,” she growled in response, leaning down to look into his furious eyes. On his back, his hair splayed out across the floor, Eliza couldn’t help but notice that he was handsome…her hand, propped up on his chest felt his warm skin beneath the leather, hard, chiselled muscle solid against her fingers. “You call for vengeance and take it by skulking around in the dark like an Orlesian? Do you duel with poisoned wine and backstabs?”

He roared again, arching against her and something hard pressed against her. She cursed, of course he wouldn’t have come in with only one weapon! She ducked her hand down to seize his second blade and froze as he released a soft groan.

Oh.

_Oh._

Her cheeks warmed significantly, heart rising into her throat. Nathaniel had turned red as well, managing to seize her blade and roll them, pinning her wrists down against the ground. Her thighs were still wrapped around his waist, his length pressing into her, and she swallowed the lump in her throat.

“You sick fuck,” she spat. Nathaniel went a brighter red.

“I wasn’t the one groping!”

“I thought it was a weapon!”

Nathaniel growled under his breath, and Eliza shivered, painfully aware of his dark eyes and lean body, firm against hers. After a moment she swallowed her pride and arched her back, rubbing against his trapped length and eliciting a low gasp from him. He squeezed her wrists tighter, jaw clenched tightly and yet made no move to shift his cock away from her core.

“Whore,” he ground out, but the crack in his voice took the sting out of the word. She let her head fall back, unconcerned. She had long worn the insult as a badge of pride, an ode to her prowess, her hard, fast style of love and the trail of exhausted men and empty beds she left in her wake. She felt Nathaniel’s gaze trail down her throat, to the tear in her rough nightshirt, which bared her collarbones and just hinted at the shape of her round breasts.

She gasped when his lips followed the trail his eyes had marked. They were soft and gentle, a stark contrast to the rough scrape of the hair on his chin and rougher archer's fingers pinning her.

“I've heard of your exploits...” he whispered against her skin, inhaling deeply, probably savouring the muted lavender scent lingering from her favoured soap. “A different man every night...a different name left with each of them...”

Eliza sighed softly. And she hadn't had time to enjoy many men after she parted ways with her companions from the Blight. Zevran, Sten, Morrigan, Leliana...she missed the nights she had with them.

“Can't have them tracing my talents back to the Couslands,” she purred. His lips parted, teeth pressing into her skin.

“And you had the _nerve_ to try and fool around with Thomas.”

Eliza snorted. She and the youngest Howe had been in an indirect dance for years with their flirting and teasing, but had refused every attempt their families had made to actually pair them.

He seemed to misinterpret her amusement, sinking his teeth in mercilessly and not letting go until she released a genuine cry of pain.

His tongue slipped out, the tip trailing delicately along the deep grooves his teeth had marked out, and Eliza moaned softly.

“Mmm...jealous, love? Jealous that the favourite son got a taste before you did?”

Nathaniel _snarled_ , biting her harder, until she cursed, tears brewing in her eyes. While she was distracted he knocked her dagger away, wrapping his long, rough fingers around both of her wrists together.

“Maybe I should see what all the fuss is about,” he growled, fingers diving between her thighs. She arched back with a moan as he stroked her through her smalls, shoving them aside to bury bow hardened fingers deep into her cunt.

Eliza threw her head back completely, inhaling sharply as Nathaniel groaned.

“Maker...you _are_ a whore,” he murmured, curling his fingers. She whined helplessly, thrusting her chest up and he latched onto her neck, sucking at her skin while he fucked her with three fingers.

She writhed, trying desperately to free her hands and seize control, but he held fast, fingers tight around her wrists as he drew his fingers out of her, and sucked them into his mouth, eyes fluttering shut in ecstasy.

She tried to free her hands while he was distracted, but he held firm, no mercy as he sucked his fingers clean, groaning softly.

He didn't have to say anything, she heard it all in that low, decedent noise. He loved her taste, he wanted to spread her legs and eat her like it was his last meal...

His eyes snapped open, fixing on her face, her lips, and a slow smirk curled his mouth.

“Can't have you running off before I get my turn,” he purred, reaching above her. With a glint of light flashing off the blade and the cold press of steel against her skin, he sliced through her nightshirt, exposing her heaving breasts to his hungry gaze.

With a flash of teeth he tossed the dagger out of sight, reaching over her head to bind her wrists with the strip he had cut from her shirt.

She grumbled, pulling at her binds and Nathaniel chuckled darkly.

“I could get used to seeing you at my mercy like this,” he murmured, seizing her by the waist and pulling her to her feet.

Eliza squealed, feet scrabbling against the ground and bound hands falling over his shoulders. He pinned her against the wall again, pressing his hardened cock between her thighs and grinding against her.

He grasped at her neck with one, powerful hand, angling her face towards his and flashing a smirk which made the heat between her thighs grow.

He pressed his lips against hers, mouth hungry and tongue eager, that little patch of hair tickling her chin. With his free hand he unlaced his trousers and she felt his hard cock fall against her bare thigh, smearing moisture across her skin.

Taking a thigh in each hand he lifted her, setting her on his hips. She moaned softly as his head brushed against her, and he practically threw her, bouncing her up against the wall and slinging her legs over his powerful arms.

She tilted her head back, baring her throat and he took advantage, sucking at her skin until it stung. His cock slid against her, back and forth, and she whined helplessly. Releasing her neck and nuzzling her, nose tucked under her ear, Nathaniel chuckled softly.

“Not very impressive, Hero,” he purred, and she inhaled sharply, head snapping towards him. He had no fucking idea how impressive she was – she survived Ostagar, united armies under a banner despised by most, killed a fucking archdemon!

Before she could voice her furious thoughts, he had shoved her smalls to the side and buried his cock deep in her. She brought her hands forwards, buried them in his long hair and released a long, ragged moan, toes curling in the cold air.

Nathaniel also cried out, a long, low groan rumbling deep in his chest as he settled deep within her. He didn't let her savour the feeling, leaning in to her throat again and bouncing her up and down on his dick. She felt his powerful arms tense as he lifted her light body, filling her up until she felt ready to split and drawing out, hot breath fanning against her skin as he panted into her neck.

Normally she liked to get a good look at a man before he pinned her against a wall and fucked her brains out...strip him down, walk her hands all over him, kiss and lick him all over...slide his cock down her throat and have him grab her hair and call out a name that wasn't hers.

Well, normally she didn't like being ambushed in her sleep, threatened at knifepoint and fucked against a wall, but hey, life was crazy sometimes.

She was forced to guess how he looked under his lightweight, strong armour, how that lithe body felt under her hands. If his powerful, toned arms were anything to go by, she suspected she'd like it, and the thick dick ploughing her insides was probably a sight to behold.

He ground a curse out against her throat and she let a ragged moan loose, even though her back was protected by the shirt still hanging off her shoulders, the hard, roughly hewn stones in the wall snagged at her hair and yanked strands free of her bun to float about her head, fluttering as she rose and fell onto him.

She was stuck, helpless and unable to move even a little with her legs pinned against her body, her back pinned against the wall, her arms trying to support herself as she balanced precariously on his cock. She was completely at his mercy, helpless to however he chose to use her, and she loved the way he did choose.

She rocked her hips down as he thrust up, and his head hit something deep within her that made them both cry out.

“Maker!” she gasped, and as her toes curled, her legs tensing, he stopped.

She groaned softly, lifting her head to scowl at him angrily.

“Is that it?” she sneered. “I guess Thomas got my hopes too high about you Howes...”

Without pause, he pulled his cock out, dropped her legs, yanked her arms over his head to pin them against the wall and slapped her with a harsh, resounding crack.

“If I gave a rat's ass about how you were feeling,” he growled into her ear, voice rough and raspy enough to send a shiver through her body. “I would have let you come by now.”

“I think you might be overestimating your abilities, Howe,” she chuckled, hoping he would prove her wrong, plunge into her and make her come screaming. Instead a low laugh escaped his thin lips, and his hand stroked its way up her body to her throat again.

“I don't give a _damn_ about what you think of my _abilities_ , Cousland,” he murmured with his voice honey smooth. He stepped back suddenly, dragging her by her thin neck and throwing her onto the bed carelessly. She bounced with a yelp, rolling to her knees in order to leap up, but he was too fast.

He grabbed at her hands again, yanking them forwards so she dropped, back arched, tits pressed against her blanket and ass in the air, her cunt clenching around nothing as she mourned having nothing inside it.

Nathaniel looked on appreciatively, strands of his dark hair had been pulled loose by her hands and his lovely, proud cock was freed from his trousers, glistening with her wetness and a glint of metal betraying a sneaky piercing she hadn’t guessed he was the type to wear.

“I think I like how you look here,” he all but purred, tracing his fingers up her arms as the bed dipped with his weight. She looked over her shoulder, captivated by his intent gaze as he traced along her spine, hooking a finger into now soaked smalls and sliding them down her thighs.

He groaned in appreciation, sliding one finger up the length of her wet slit.

“You’re nice and tight for a whore.”

Eliza smirked, a retort on the tip of her tongue when he thrust into her without a hint of warning. Her smartass comment turned into a loud, long moan, echoed by the man behind her, on top of her, _inside_ her.

He moved hard and fast, a punishing pace she always demanded of her bedfellows, and both hands grasping her waist, yanking her back against him.

 _Every thrust_ hit that bit deep inside her, and she groaned helplessly, fingers curling into her blanket. For someone who insisted her pleasure didn't matter, he was definitely giving her a lot of it, hips shifting with hers to hit different places inside her, cock pounding as though it was his last day alive.

She tensed herself around him, rewarded by a low groan, and she rocked back against him so hard, he almost fell out if her. With a growl, he took hold of her hair, pulling it out of its bun to fall across her shoulders and then twisting it in his fist, pulling her slowly, but hard until her head almost touched his chest.

“I'm going to let you come, whore,” he growled into her ear, other hand grasping her thigh firmly. She whined wordlessly, muscles already tensing in pleasure, breath coming short and fast, light moans clipping the end of each breath. She wanted nothing more than to come then. He could have slit her throat, brought all of her new advisors in to watch and she wouldn't have cared.

His hand shifted from thigh to stomach, tracing lower agonisingly slowly.

“I’ve heard Wardens can't carry children,” he panted, surely close himself. Of course he wouldn't offer her mercy without taunting her first...

“I hope it's not true.” He licked along the shell of her ear. “I'd love to watch you carry on the name you tried to des _troy_.”

His voice broke on the last word, as she clenched her cunt with all of her strength, and he chuckled darkly, yanking her back onto him, fucking her as his fingers wandered down, finally brushing the worn pads against where she needed it most.

She groaned, trying to buck back against him, but he pinned her, fingers working hard and fast against her. She didn't have the presence of mind to make a smart remark about his talent, eyes rolling into the back of her head and strangled, guttural noises tearing out of her chest as his calloused, nimble fingers played her like a lute.

She fell hard and helplessly, every inch of her body going rigid as a board, a long, deafening cry escaping her, her entire world narrowing down to his fingers and cock, the hot, white pleasure spreading through her body, blooming out like a drop of wine in a pool of water.

She didn't hear Nathaniel's low moan, didn't feel the sting on her scalp as he tugged her hair, she didn't feel anything more than her trembling body filling with drugging tingles of pleasure, toes curling tightly.

Then she melted, Nathaniel mercifully releasing her hair and letting her collapse onto the mattress, arms folding beneath her and hair covering her shoulders and neck.

She was boneless, broken. She barely heard Nathaniel chuckle lowly, trace her spine from neck to ass with his nails, and he grabbed her waist in both hands, yanking her back against him, fucking her hard and fast and deep, like a man off to war.

She didn't have the energy to moan, she hadn't expected such a powerful orgasm so quickly, and couldn't bring herself to do anything as Nathaniel used her body, fucked her and, releasing a long, guttural moan, pulled her flush against his powerful hips.

She finally pulled a light, high moan from her chest as his cock twitched and pulsed, his fingers pressing hard into her skin. He didn't let her collapse, holding her firm until every last drop of his come had filled her.

She dropped with a ragged sigh, unable to even think about moving as Nathaniel dropped beside her, giving her a clear look at his sweaty forehead and the drugged, satisfied look scrawled across his face.

Rolling onto her back, Eliza stretched her arms above her head lazily, finding what she was looking for and watching Nathaniel sigh, tuck his cock away and lace his trousers. He rolled onto his side, propping himself up on his arm and gazing down at her with an easy, relaxed eyes.

“I’m still going to kill you,” he murmured sleepily. Eliza pulled an exaggerated pout onto her lips.

“That's a shame,” she purred. Her ease seemed to wake him up a bit, but he was too slow to stop the knife she had pulled from under the mattress whipping up to his narrow throat again.

She gave him a sly grin, tracing his skin with the blade.

“I've got shit to do, love,” she murmured. “Afterwards I'll die.”

Clenching his teeth, she saw Nathaniel regretting his weakness for an eager, needful woman, and she jerked her head.

“Stand,” she commanded. “Slowly.”

He obeyed warily, not losing contact with her eyes as they both drew to their feet. She twisted the knife deftly, slicing through her binds with ease and finally taking the chance to run her fingers along his solid jaw, sharp cheekbones. She wondered how his ugly bastard of a father managed to produce such good-looking children.

“Do be good,” she urged. “I would hate to slit your throat after _that_.”

He didn't say anything, fixing her with a cold silver glare, and she smiled sweetly, turning him around and walking him to the door.

“Open it.”

He did so, twisting the knob and pulling it open. She led him out, down a hall and called out sharply.

“Guards!”

Nathaniel winced, muttering something about her having the voice of a dying goose, and she chuckled softly, watching two Wardens come running down the hallway, eyes wide.

“Warden-Commander!” one called worriedly, the other staring dumbly at her long, bare legs behind her prisoner.

“I'm fine,” she said before he asked. “It's not my first attempted murder.”

She pushed Nathaniel towards the two larger men, unconcerned with the shirt open over her chest, her breasts bare and scarred torso in plain sight.

“There are cells below the keep, aren't there?”

One of the Wardens nodded, the other quickly binding the rogue's hands.

“Lock him up for the night,” she sighed, folding her arms and just wanting to go back to sleep. “I'll deal with him tomorrow.”

Both Wardens saluted her, taking hold of their prisoner.

“Warden-Commander,” one said. “Are you sure you're okay?”

Eliza appreciated the concern, but truly felt _wonderful_ , as she told them, dismissing them and heading back down the hall.

Although she would have been happy to sleep for the whole night, when she discarded her ruined nightshirt and settled onto the bed, she inhaled the smell of sex and smiled to herself.

She always slept a bit better when she was filled with come anyway.


End file.
